Tit For Tat
by RedRoom
Summary: Quinn and Rachel have a teenage son. Santana and Brittany have a teenage daughter. Both teens are interested in one another. Teenage relationships are hard enough. But they are even harder when your parents don't get along with your love interest's parents.


I wrote this some time ago. Thought I should just post it.

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><p>Rachel Berry stands before her fifteen year old son, a proud smile on her face as she dusts off his smooth dark blue blazer. He rolls his eyes, but entirely captivated by how handsome her son is, Rachel doesn't notice. Instead she surveys his entire appearance for imperfections, from his mouse blonde tufts of spiky hair, to his classic black shoes. Nothing errant stands out to her, but for a mark just below his right eye. She immediately frowns behind the sophisticated specs that are perched upon her nose, and extends up to her tip toes for closer inspection. With an annoyed click of the tongue, she licks her thumb and takes it to her wide-eyed son's face.<p>

"Mom!" he exclaims, violently ducking the fast approaching digit.

Undeterred, Rachel's expression remains determined, and she looks for new angles from which to shove her wet thumb into his face.

He secures his fingers around her wrist and holds it so that she can't move it. "Stop it! I'm too old for this."

In the face of her son's irritation, Rachel's lips elongate into a fond smile. "Rylan, honey, I just want you to look perfect. You're such a beautifully handsome young man; I just want everybody to see that. Now release my wrist, before I dye it with the strawberry juice in the fridge, and tell your mother that you used unnecessary force to restrain me."

At the mention of his much stricter parent, his mother Quinn, Rylan Berry-Fabray almost throws his mom's wrist back at her. "You are evil, mom," he grumbles, unamused by her idea of teasing. "She would probably kill me if she thought that I'd bruised you."

"Yes, because that's not an over exaggeration at _all_," Rachel scoffs, as she dusts off the strong shoulders of the tall boy's blazer. "We must rid your face of that mark before you leave, honey. Girls don't want scruffs around them."

"You and mom seem to be the exception to that rule then, don't you?" The boy's almost grey hazel eyes gleam impishly, and his full rosy lips ride up to reveal straight, well taken care of, white teeth with his grin.

Rachel takes a moment to let her cheeky son's comment digest, and then bats the back of her hand off of his shoulder. "I'll tell her you said that."

"Ow!" He clutches the flummoxed shoulder, feigning a terribly transparent wince, before altogether abandoning the guise that he's hurt. He won't be following in Rachel's footsteps where acting is concerned, that's for sure. "Even if I was a scruff, Jamie would still like me," he brags, suddenly appearing smaller as pink tinges his somewhat tanned cheeks. "Not that she's even going to the ball tonight."

Rachel lets her hand fall from Rylan's shoulder. It's as solemn as any motion can be. "Are you sure that Jamie is – that she's..." She huffs. "You know..." Her face scrunches as she searches her vast vocabulary for something that won't cause tension and offense. She umms and ahhs with herself for a few seconds, the entire struggle playing out in her features as something that looks a lot like disapproval.

"I like her, mom!" Rylan interrupts, adamant almost to the point of defiance. "Just because she lives in the poor part of town -"

"Now now, Rylan Jefferson Berry-Fabray, that is not the reason why your mother and I have our reservations about that girl, and you know it!"

"Really?" He quirks a skeptical eyebrow, the countenance all too reminiscent of Quinn, except for his squared off masculine jaw, which carries the look off with a little more stern than what Rachel deems necessary. She is the parent, after all. Not him.

"Do not give me that eyebrow, child," she warns. "The reason why your mother and I are not sure of that girl is because -"

"That girl?" he challenges. "She'snot_ that_ _girl_. Her name's Jamie, mom. **Jamie Lopez-Pierce**."

Rachel throws her hands up, before letting them flop to her sides, because that is exactly what her problem with Jamie is - the girl's parents. "I don't like her mothers, Rylan. Well, the blonde one is simply divine - an angel. But that other one; she is a horrible woman."

Rylan sighs. "I don't want to date Santana. If that was the case then I could understand you being worried. Jamie's an angel."

"Have you ever seen this Jamie upset? You say she is a Gemini, which could mean that she is an angel when things are going her way, and absolute disaster when she's angry," Rachel counters, feeling like she's grasping at straws.

Ryan rolls his eyes, and steps past the small woman to enter the mirror that hangs above the fireplace. There he fiddles with and adjusts his silver tie. "A _lot_ of people are disasters when they're upset or angry, mom," he quietly tells his reflection, though the implicating words are clearly not intended for himself.

Rachel's big brown eyes pop wide, an indignant gasp puffing from her lips, which soon form a tight thin line. "I sincerely hope that you are not implying what I think you're implying, young man. Your mother and I argue just like any other married couple. It is normal and healthy. But from the small snippets that I have seen of Santana, Jamie could be a step beyond argumentative. God forbid you ever do anything to upset the girl. Santana would come down on you like a ton of bricks, and your mother and I will not stand for anybody vilifying our child!"

Rylan tugs his tie a little to the left, smoothing his hand down the length of it repeatedly. "What, you mean a step beyond argumentative like how you throw objects at mom when she really gets under your skin?"

Whilst blindly feeling around the nearest shelf for an object to throw at the vile teen, Rachel catches sight of her wife in the mirror that her son is monopolizing.

The door that distinguishes the spacious porch from the living room cracks open, and Quinn saunters in, three or four bags strewn across her forearm. Her smile fades once she catches the tension in the room, and she slows her jolly little stroll to a wary gait. "Is everything ok?" She looks to Rachel imploringly. "Baby?"

The sudden look of panic about Rylan's handsome features is unmistakable.

Quinn recognizes the look. It's the same look that five year old Rylan would adopt right before a stint in the naughty corner or a spanking. She also identifies the frazzled energy of her wife for what it is, and pins their sixteen year old son with suspicious eyes. "What did you do this time, smart aleck?"

Rylan blinks a long blink, hating that callously calm tone that his mother often uses when she's losing patience. "Mom was telling me to forget about Jamie, because of how abrasive Santana is, and then..." He turns around and regards his mom, thinking better of trying to justify his insolence. It's not like he's got a cat in hell's chance of getting his mother to side with him anyway. "I'm sorry mom. I was out of order."

Rachel nods. "Ok. Go and finish getting ready, Rylan."

As soon as Rylan is out of the room, Quinn uses one of the bags that are strewn across her arm to nudge her wife.

Rachel affords her a wistful smile.

"What happened?"

"I pointed out the possibility that a child that was raised by Santana Lopez is likely to be overly aggressive in certain situations, and that if him and Jamie were to ever get into a heated argument, we wouldn't want things to venture into violence." Rachel pauses for breath.

"Yeah," Quinn encourages.

Rachel sighs. "He swiftly pointed out that I am guilty of getting slightly aggressive when you and I argue, and mentioned my tendency to throw... objects."

"That little jerk," Quinn mutters, internally outraged by the insolence of their son. She promptly shrugs the shopping bags off of her arm and into the plush cream armchair beside her, ready to jet off upstairs and sort the teenager out. But a preventative hand curls around her bicep.

"No," the smaller woman quietly protests. "It's not like he is wrong in his... observations. I do sometimes... get a bit overzealous - I lose my temper sometimes."

With narrowed eyes that flare flecks of intense green, as well as muted flames of orange, Quinn counters, "but he was wrong to talk to you that way. You're his mom. You were trying to look out for him."

Rachel can see that she's getting nowhere, so she takes a different route. "Honey, when we were his age, what would we have said to anybody who sought to keep us apart?"

Quinn blinks repeatedly, attempting to minimize her affront so that she can see the situation clearly, like she knows that her wife wants her to. "But that Jamie is a rude little demon. We weren't like that. We were just two teenagers trying to be in love. That's beside the point though. He shouldn't have spoken to you that way, and you're not going to convince me otherwise. Please let go of my arm."

Reluctantly, Rachel unhands her wife's bicep, and the only thing that can be heard next are Quinn's feet pounding up the staircase steps. Rachel folds her arms and squeezes her eyes shut...

"Get that suit off, you're not going anywhere tonight!"

Rylan's muffled protests seep down through the roof above Rachel's head. She peers up, as if that is going to make his words less muffled. It doesn't. Quinn is the only one that she can hear clearly, due to the sheer volume of her reproachful voice.

"Technically, it's my suit since I went out to work and earned the money to pay for it. I don't know what you've been smoking just recently, but you need to cut it out! Disrespect your mom _one_ more time, Rylan! How dare you throw our disagreements in her face like that? You know how sensitive she can be, and you prey on that? That's your _mom_ down there!" Quinn stresses. "You really think you're going to get to go to your school ball after your behavior tonight?"

An ominous silence, which is plagued with a sense of finality, plays out, only marred by the bounding footsteps of one descending the stairs.

Quinn emerges, her usually pale face flushed a furious red. She snatches the shopping bags up and sweeps around the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen, placing the groceries on the work surface as she goes by.

"Quinn, he thinks we dislike Jamie due to the fact that she resides in the poor part of town," reveals Rachel, perhaps looking for reassurance that that is _not_ the case. She had been raised by the hands of two men, and the notion that she harbors any prejudice just does not sit well within her heart.

With her back to her wife as she crouches to pack the fridge with newly bought groceries, Quinn shrugs. "He'd be right."

"Quinn!" Rachel whines.

The blonde stands up, swing the door to the fridge shut, and covers the distance towards her wife. "Baby, how are we supposed to know that money isn't the only reason that she's interested in him?"

Drawing her face just inches from her wife's, Rachel is discreet as she says, "that is an insult to Rylan. He's handsome, smart, and has charisma, Quinn."

"_And_ he lives in a four bedroom house, with a pool, a theater room, and an upstairs and downstairs bathroom, in the affluent part of town," Quinn highlights. "I'm not saying that he isn't all of the things you just mentioned, because he is. But some girls just see dollar signs, baby. He'd be pretty easy to take advantage of because of how sensitive he can be."

"I still don't think that Jamie Lopez-Pierce is sniffing around our son because of money."

Quinn merely shrugs. "You can never be too careful. I know what a manipulative, scheming, little bitch I was at that age. When it comes to our son, I'm going to assume that all girls at that age are the same as I was. They're guilty until proven innocent."

"I don't know whether to agree with you, or call you an unreasonable nitwit."

Quinn smirks. "You can call me whatever you want. It's whether or not I'll answer that's the question."

Rachel chuckles, trailing her nails down Quinn's torso. With her idol hand, she hooks her finger into the arm of her glasses, removes them from her face, and hangs them into the neck of her brown v-neck shirt. "You didn't greet me in a satisfactory manner when you got in. Do I get my hug and kiss now, dearest wifey?"

Quinn chuckles lowly, and slips her arms around Rachel's waist, drawing her close. "Dearest wifey? I better be your only wifey," she whispers, pressing a sweet kiss to her wife's tan temple.

Rachel's eyes flutter shut at the warm breathy caress of those words. "As if I even know that other women exist when you're around."

Quinn winds back a little, purring an almost accusatory yet playful, "smooth talker."

"It's the truth," Rachel insists, grinning as her nails trail the white cotton blouse around her wife's navel area.

"Are we still on for tonight?"

"Well, now that you've effectively grounded our son, I'm not sure whether our date for loud and aggressive sex still stands."

Quinn smiles fondly. "How about we reschedule tonight for some quiet aggressive sex instead?" She slides one hand lower and squeezes Rachel's butt, before patting it a few times. "It's been way too long since I've tapped that ass."

Rachel erupts in what can only be described as a wild bray of laughter, and attempts to push out of the embrace, but Quinn - having already seen it coming - holds on, walking her wife backwards until they're sinking, horizontally, into the soft cushions. She dips her head and sweeps her wife's plump lips into that of her own, trapping that luscious bottom lip between her teeth before tugging it out.

Rachel sighs nasally into the gentle steamy kiss, letting her hand glide all the way down to Quinn's perfect ass. How she adores her wife's ass. She gives the supple flesh – even at the age of forty-one – a squeeze, and hisses, "I want you to fuck me like you mean it tonight," against her wife's lips.

Quinn shudders at the desperation in Rachel's whisper. With a grin, she stares down into dark eyes that are blown to saucers, and tucks a few strands of silk brown behind a tan ear. "I always mean it. Now remove your hand from my rear, before Rylan comes down stairs."

With a bit of a pout, Rachel guides her hand to safer regions, but when Quinn makes to get up, she holds on, groaning, "I could stay here, with you on top of me, all night. We most likely wouldn't even have to do anything, and I'd probably come. Don't expect me to last too long later on."

Quinn's eyebrows furrow. At the mere mention of Rylan potentially walking in on their sexual advances, Rachel's usually always the first one to cease their activities. But not this time, which can only mean one thing. "Wow. You're really riled up this evening, huh?" Quinn observes, regarding the woman beneath her with adoring almost pitying eyes. She pecks the corner of Rachel's mouth, and feels her wife drag in a ragged breath in response. Quinn chuckles. "Has it been that long?"

"Well, conflicting schedules will send a bullet soaring through any couple's sex life. It's not like we've been neglecting sex because we don't want it. But it has been a week and three days since the last time." Rachel smirks because even now, all these years later, her libido is still that of her sixteen-year-old self. She wants and needs sex often. More so than her wife does. Quinn loves having sex with her. Quinn loves topping her. Quinn loves bottoming for her. Rachel knows those things to be irrefutable facts, but Quinn is also content to just snuggle a lot of the time, and that's what they'll do if Rachel doesn't push for more.

Things have always been that way, and it's only in the last few years that Rachel has learned not to take it personally.

"Aww, my poor sexually frustrated bear," Quinn coos, brushing strands of chestnut silk out of Rachel's face. "Don't distress. We'll take care of each other later, ok?"

Rachel smiles, before leaning up to steal one last languid kiss.

* * *

><p>Brittany, Santana, and Jamie Lopez-Pierce are all sat in their matchbox-sized living room in darkness, save the randomly placed candles that flicker around them, casting ominous shadows against the walls.<p>

Jamie sighs.

Santana shoots her teenage daughter a glare that nobody sees, but Brittany senses it and nudges her fiery little wife. "Stop it, Santana," she warns, her tone all too familiar to Santana's ears.

"I can't believe we have no electricity... again. God, I wish you guys would just get it together already," Jamie complains, rolling her eyes at the situation. She can't even charge her phone, which died a few minutes ago.

Before Santana can chew the teenager a new asshole, Brittany quickly suggests, "Jamie, why don't you stay over at a friend's house tonight?"

"Yeah, before the police have to call me in for questioning. I won't even deny that I'm guilty," Santana quips, earning herself another scolding nudge from her wife, who shakes her head, no, when their eyes meet. But that doesn't deter Santana. "Just cool that mouth of yours, Jamie."

The blonde-haired blue-eyed teenager runs her fingers back through her ocean of golden tresses, and blows a frustrated gust of breath out of her cheeks. "Maybe I could try to get a job or something - I don't know." She shrugs.

"No! You need to focus on school," Santana instantly shoots the idea down, her pride brutally bashed by the resounding fact that she can't currently provide for her family the way that she wants and needs to. "I'm just waiting to hear back from that store. Once I get the job, all of this crap will be over."

"Aww, thanks for offering though, pumpkin," Brittany says, sending a sad smile towards her teenage daughter.

Jamie gives her mother a dutiful nod that says, 'any time,' and then suddenly stands up, announcing, "I'm gonna see if I can crash at Rylan's house tonight. That ok with you guys?"

"What, so you can come back pregnant, and stress us out with another mouth to feed? I'd sooner castrate that prissy little fucker firs -"

Brittany nudges her wife for the third time. "Santana! If you keep it up, I'll put you in a time out in the attic, and the ghost up there will be free to have her way with you."

Jamie discreetly cups her laughter, recalling the time that Brittany had banished Santana to the attic for being unnecessarily abrasive towards the couple next door. The ghost up there had apparently tried to grope her mama's ass.

"Oh, I _know_ you're not over there laughing at me, mija."

Brittany too giggles at the memory of Santana bounding out of the attic, yelling about how there's a ghost up there. Fascinated, Brittany had clapped her hands with jubilance, immediately wanting to meet this ghost. She'd even spent a night up there in the hopes of getting some extra play from the spirit. But nothing touched her ass or her breast, or any other fun body parts, unfortunately. Disappointed, she'd collected up her pillow and blanket, let down her tent, and gone downstairs after locking the attic up. Not even ten minutes later, dull heavy thuds could be heard coming from the locked room, along with what sounded like something heavy being dragged across the floor boards.

Jamie had halted her spoonful of Lucky Charms an inch from her lips, Brittany had smirked, and Santana had vanished and quickly returned with a hammer in hand, ready to put a hole in the spirit's skull if need be.

Despite laughing off her mama's freak out when the incident had first happened, Jamie now never goes up there alone.

They may not have a lot of money, but they have one another, and they have memories. They've had a lot of good times. Brittany is content with that. Now all they needed was electricity , and all would be swell-tastic.

"Why is everybody giggling, but me?" Santana grumbles, darting a look between what she can see of her wife and daughter. "There's something seriously jacked, for reals, up in that attic. Next time my abuela visits, I'm getting her to bless that space. If you're gonna camp out in my attic, you're gonna at least pay rent, or help out with the housework. That ghost's got me jacked up. I am _not_ the one!"

"Nothing happened to me when I stayed in there," Brittany retorts, slinging an arm around her wife's neck and cuddling into her warmth.

"Maybe the thing up there doesn't think you're hot enough. Put that in your vajay-jay and smoke it," Santana teases.

Confused, Brittany deadpans, jaunting her head around seemingly in search of something that no one else is aware of. She holds still after a few seconds, and finally asks, "smoke what, baby?"

Jamie stands there and listens to her parents' comical back and forth banter. Who needed television when her parents were around?

"I'm not having sex yet," she suddenly blurts, halting her parents' conversation.

They both look towards the shadowy figure that they hope is their fifteen year old daughter, and not some apparition that is posing as their fifteen year old daughter.

"I'm not stupid enough to get knocked up, and Rylan's not that sort of boy. I just wanna be someplace that has electricity tonight. You guys have each other to cuddle up to. I'd have to sleep by myself in the dark, 'cause I can't put the TV in my room on." Even with the limited light, Jamie sees that her two moms are not sold, especially Santana. "Look, you can call one of his moms - Rachel! - and have her tell you that she'll make sure that I sleep on the couch, or something. Please?" the teenager begs, eyebrows both risen and diagonal in hope.

Brittany looks at Santana, and Santana returns her gaze.

* * *

><p>Sat in bed, with her back resting against the tall cherry-wood headboard, Rachel lifts her glasses up to the light. "Quinn," she mumbles, "you crushed my glasses and made them wonky when you threw me down on the sofa and climbed on top of me earlier."<p>

Quinn delicately takes the glasses that are balanced between her wife's forefinger and thumb, reaches over the smaller woman's stomach, and gingerly places them on the bedside cabinet beside their bed. She scoots down a little, settling down on top of a now smirking Rachel - wonky glasses forgotten. "I'm about to make your eyes go wonky with the orgasm I intend to give you," she threatens, her eyes already hooded at the hands of the filthy thoughts that roam her mind.

For Rachel, the fire that Quinn had started earlier, flickers back into existence, flaming with much more intensity than before.

Rachel wriggles beneath the soft warm body of the blonde, hooks her thumbs into the elasticated sides of her own violet panties, and begins to eagerly tug them down. Quinn, with a husky chuckle, lifts up a little, allowing for her aroused wife's rushed movements.

A seriously aroused and fidgety Rachel is one of her favorite Rachel's. The brunette often becomes whiny, or sometimes bossy, when she's turned on, and knowing how turned on Rachel gets always inspires Quinn to pump the strap-on, or her fingers, or her tongue between Rachel's legs that much harder. That much faster. Anything to see Rachel's eyes roll white, and her breathing stutter, before her entire body dissolves into powerful shudders.

Wearing a smirk, Quinn smooths her fingers down her wife's bare stomach – watching the muscles knot and dance - until she's cupping the soft heat between her legs.

"Mmmm," Rachel hums, licking her lips as her eyes flutter closed.

The sudden knock at the door halts Quinn's movements, and she quickly scrambles off of her wife, pulling the duvet up over both of their bodies.

Rachel huffs, before growling, "come in!"

The bedroom door cracks open, and a head of short spiky blonde hair appears, before the rest of Rylan's form comes into view. He runs his hazel eyes over the scene and thinks to apologize for interrupting whatever it is that he thinks he's interrupted, but he doesn't, instead cutting straight to the chase. "The power went out over at Jamie's house. Is it alright if she stays here tonight?"

Quinn frowns. "What?"

"Jamie. She just called and asked," is Rylan's only response.

"Why does she think she can come here, just because the power went out at her house?" Quinn quizzes.

Rylan shrugs. "She knows we have spare rooms, and we live closer to her than any of her relatives."

"What your mother is asking," Rachel begins, shaking off her arousal, "is why Jamie isn't content to just stay at home? When we have power outages, we remain in our own house."

"The power went out, mom. That means she can't cook any food, or anything. She also sleeps with the light on, usually."

"That's assuming they can afford food in the first place," Quinn mumbles, unable to conceal her irritation over the randomness of this request.

"Quinn Berry-Fabray," Rachel scolds, giving her wife a look. She then returns her gaze to her son. "Tell her she can come over, but she will sleep in one of the spare rooms. No sexual activities! Am I making myself clear?"

Rylan appears to relax, and he smiles. "Crystal. Thanks mom."

As soon as the teenager closes the bedroom door, Quinn pounces. "Are you kidding me, Rachel?"

"No, I am not. It'll give us a chance to get a more accurate feel for this girl's personality."

Quinn fists the hem of the duvet and huffily rolls away from her wife, taking most of the covers with her. "Firstly, he's under punishment. Secondly, I worked a nine hour shift today, and was hoping to wind down for a dirty night in bed with my wife. Do I look like I'm in the mood to vet a teenage girl? I'm going to sleep. You can deal with her, since you feel perfectly content to make all of the decisions alone around here."

Rachel tugs the duvet gently, merely testing the waters, and sure enough Quinn drags even more of the duvet over to her side, leaving the brunette completely uncovered this time.

"Baby, I'm sorry if I made you feel excluded -"

"No. You outright excluded me. There's a difference between excluding, and making a person feel excluded."

Rachel sighs, and reaches down to pull her panties back up from around her ankles, because it feels like her hopes of having a sexy night in have gone up in smoke. She rolls out of bed, steps into some sweats, and buns her river of flowing chestnut hair with the blue scrunchie that resides around her wrist.

The room is completely silent now, devoid of any movement.

Quinn can feel Rachel's pouting eyes on her, but she's just too heated at this point. "Quit standing there watching me like some serial killer," she grumps into her pillow.

After a few more beats of silence, the bed dips, and Quinn feels her wife crawling across the mattress towards her. A hand gently takes up purchase upon her shoulder. But she remains still, eyes closed, just breathing. "Let me sleep, Rachel."

Rachel thinks that Quinn looks so beautiful in that moment, nostrils flaring slightly, lips taught. But never more beautiful than when she is smiling. "Quinn, I know that I have a tendency to get overzealous and steam ahead, making decisions by myself. In a partnership, such as a marriage, it's not a helpful trait. I know that. I am working on improving in that respect." When Quinn continues to ignore her she soldiers on. "I love you, and I never seek to intentionally exclude you, or make you feel insignificant. I'm sorry that I did."

"Ok," Quinn responds. But her body language remains the same, distant and cold.

This is not the first time that they have fallen out over this, and Quinn just wants to sleep her irritation and hurt off.

Rachel lingers, stung when her wife fails to return any sort of affection.

Coming to terms with the fact that she isn't going to receive any, she shuffles away from Quinn and gets up off of the bed, heading out onto the landing.


End file.
